The Tycoon's Takeover

‘It’s curious that we’re both named after countries, don’t you think?’ he said, once they were seated at a quiet table.

She resisted the temptation to point out that while he was named after a very small country she was named after a sub-continent. ‘My father met my mother in India,’ she said, perusing the menu. ‘Hence the name. It’s something of a family tradition. My father took his second wife to Florence for their honeymoon, and met his third in Rome on a trip to the fashion shows. She was a model. Hence Flora and Romana.’

‘How fortunate he didn’t have boys.’

She glanced up. ‘Well, that’s original.’

‘What is?’

‘Most people say how lucky it was that the cities weren’t Naples, or Pisa. Tell me about your name. Was that a honeymoon destination too?’

‘My parents never got around to taking a honeymoon,’ he replied. ‘But then they never actually got around to marriage.’

‘Oh.’ Served her right for asking.

‘According to my mother, my father’s surname was Jordan. Or rather Jourdan. He was French. They met while she was backpacking in Europe before going to university. It was one of those holiday romances. You know how it is. Brief. Passionate.’ He shrugged. ‘Life-changing.’

Was it a big deal having a baby as a single mother back then? She supposed it must have been. Something about the way he’d said ‘life-changing’ suggested it had radically changed his mother’s life. And not necessarily for the better. Not going to university would have been the first of many sacrifices.

‘I did wonder how you came to be using the Farraday surname,’ she said. She’d resisted the urge to ask. She didn’t want to know that kind of stuff. She had to keep this businesslike. ‘You never knew him?’

‘My father? No. He was long gone by the time Kitty realised she was pregnant.’

‘Kitty? You call your mother by her first name?’

He shrugged. ‘A gloss to protect my grandfather’s sensibilities, I suspect.’

‘Oh, I see. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I just don’t know much about your family history.’

‘We have a lot in common, you and I. We both want the same thing. We both come from one-parent families.’

She wanted to ask him if his mother had ever found someone special. Wanted to know about his life. Had he been an only child? The son of an embittered woman? An older half-sibling… An outsider… This morning he had been a stranger. Already she wanted to know his deepest fears, his happiest memories.

‘She gave you his name,’ she said.

‘Not the whole name. But she felt I should have something to remember him by. The way your name reminds you of your mother. Do you remember her?’

‘No. I was still a baby when she left.’ So much for keeping it businesslike. Concentrating on the menu, as if she hadn’t already made up her mind what she would choose, and as casually as she knew how, she said, ‘According to my grandmother she never settled—hated London. She just wanted to go back to India, kick off her shoes, don her beads and get back to the ashram.’